Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I do not make any money off of this.
Author's Note: To those of you who doubt that a lot of thought can take place in a short period of time… you've obviously never lost control on an icy mountain road. It's amazing how much thinking you can (and do) do in a single split-second. Memory isn't line by line… it all can happen in an instant. And I am truly sorry… but this is the last chapter… all good things must come to an end… or at least conclude. C.
Chapter 10: Belief
The best defence against the atom bomb is not to be there when it goes off.
–British Army Journal in Observer 20 February 1949
Nemo me impune lacessitNo one provokes me with impunity
– Motto of the Crown of Scotland and the Scottish regiments
Expletive deleted.
–Submission of Recorded Presidential Conversations to the Committee of the Judiciary of the House of Representatives by President Richard M. Nixon 30 April 1974
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Taking a deep breath, Trip leapt out into darkness, feeling gravity take its undeniable hold, pulling him downwards, adding 9.68 more metres per second to his speed with every second he plunged. He knew the math – knew that if he did this wrong there would be no second chances, nothing to fix. Time slowed and lengthened, even as it kept its pace.
[ "How can you believe in something – like God – when there's no evidence that a God need exist?" Another debate on God… this time formalised for an English class setting. So far most of his teammates had been fairly lacklustre… Trip had to carry the brunt.
"Do you plan to get married, one day?" Toby's mismatched eyes locked on to his and wouldn't let go. They'd chosen sides opposite each other – how many of their classmates thought it was purely an intellectual exercise? How many on the yes side – yes He/She/It exists – truly believed? Who believed anymore… what with the speed of light no longer the limit to the speed of man… with hunger destroyed and prejudice well on its way? There was no need for God anymore… but at least one still believed.
"Yes." He did plan on it… family, friends, the whole nine yards. And after the wedding: children then grandchildren, and maybe even great-grandchildren – a Tucker clan of his own. "Of course I do."
"And do you expect that marriage to last?" He knew a trap lay in her question. Toby never asked something like that without it being heavily loaded.
"Yes. I wouldn't get married if I didn't expect…"
"How can you do that? I mean… look at the statistics. Roughly seventy percent of modern marriages end in divorce. Ninety percent of all homicides are domestically related, and out of those, eighty percent are spousal. Throw in the number of people who are separated but haven't gone through the legal wrangling of a divorce – whether 'for the sake of the kids' or some other less 'noble' reason – and the ones that live under the same roof but for all intents and purposes aren't fulfilling the definitions of marriage… how can you look at that evidence and say that you are going to get married, and stay that way?"
"I…" Trust Toby – the child of one of those eighty percent – to find that angle. You watch your father kill your mother… and you still believe there's a God. He still had trouble believing that she could have that past… even when her grandmother confirmed it was true.
"It's called blind faith. Just because the evidence isn't biting you on the nose doesn't mean that something doesn't exist. It's something we can't live without." She spoke directly to him and he to her… the other debaters might not have even existed.
"Why not?"
"Because then we'd never be able to live. You take each breath, never knowing if you'll have another one. But you believe that you will. If you believe you can breathe… how can you not make the leap and believe in God?" Sunlight from the classroom window backlit her and reflected off her hair. She looked like a Bernini angel… all light and fire with a built-in hint of power and vengeance. Trip almost could believe – for wouldn't this be one of His perfect messengers? Possessed of great knowledge, with ageless beauty and the sweetest of voices. Yet to the side she lay reflected in the deep black of the classroom vid-screen, her eyes bright flames in her sharp-featured face. No angel, but a demon here to torment him.
So… God, or devil? And if so, which? "But evidence is there… each breath before was followed by another… the evidence argues that your next one will be as well. I prefer to believe in things I can reach out and touch…"]
… and trust old athlete's reflexes to kick in in the crunch. His fingers stretched out to where the ladder should be, fire ripping through them as they merely brushed the rungs. He forced them out farther, made them connect even though the evidence said that it would be wrong to do so, that it would cause damage. The impact shattered bone, and yanked his shoulder from his socket. But it slowed him enough to allow him to grab on with his left hand and hold… jerking to an ugly but survivable stop.
Now there was a brilliant move and a half, Tucker. And just how the hell do you expect to climb the rest of the way down with a useless arm?
"Oh ye of little faith." He refused to think about the drop, failing to understand how the ability to do so qualified as rare talent. Everyone – Archer, even T'Pol – tried to explain on occasion that if there was something you must not think, then it would be impossible not to think it. You just don't think about it, that's all. You just think about something else. Like how to attach your belt to the ladder while only using your left hand. Like tapping into the wiring and fixing the lift so that it would come slowly to you, because if it came at normal speed you'd be pancaked to the wall faster than you could make a neural connection. You think about what you're trying to prove, and about how it may not be provable… Oh the thinks you can think. Even think about those years gone past, reading Dr. Seuss to Elizabeth. Think about…
{You know, I might just believe that you really are insane.}
…Toby hanging in the air, three rungs above you.
"Why? You used to convince me to do things like this all the time." Despite the pain – now being numbed by pure shock – he smiled. "By the way… I need you to stay with me."
{Thank you, Trip. I think that's one of the nicer things you've ever said about me. I mean… there is still the age difference… and the vitality difference… and the fact that if you keep doing stuff like this there won't be a vitality difference…}
"Because I think I can accomplish more if they think I'm dead. But if Kaci sees you – she'll probably guess that I'm not… and I don't want to take the risk of her inadvertently giving something away." His smile grew as she contrived to look insulted.
{It's always about you, isn't it? Mr. Ego the size of the Universe… Mr. I Can't Believe…}
"Ah, but I do believe, Toby. I believe in ladders and pain… and most of all…" He undid the belt as the lift arrived, the hole still conveniently in the top. He hopped down to the roof, then through that and into the lift itself. There, still slathered on the doors lay the one thing he needed… the one thing that might prove that he wasn't the man they took him for. "… most of all, I believe in blood."
They clamoured, pressing forwards, wanting to know how he did this thing, how he pulled off the miracle of resurrection when each of them knew such a thing to be beyond the realm of possibility. They wanted to know what he thought he would accomplish with this insanity. A familiar voice screamed at him, wanting to know why… why would he take such a risk, why would he be so careless, did he have any idea what he'd put people through.
If you'd shut up… He could feel himself drifting, losing touch with all of it. He was tired, he was hurt… and there was a large possibility that whatever analgesic he'd procured from Phlox's medical cabinet was more powerful and/or narcotic than he'd originally suspected. The doc is gonna kill me. 'Course that'll be a relief, because then I won't be able to hear the captain lecturing me about being stupid and taking drugs I know nothing about, and ' what do you think you are, a doctor?' Which would be its own relief, because then Archer would be talking to him like a person again, and not just Chief Engineer. Because we may not be that close… but I wouldn't mind us being friends again. Still, none of it was likely to happen if he couldn't make these people go away. A paraphrase from an old comedy routine – Dennis Leary, one of Hess' favourites – danced its way through his head. Tonight – due to illness – the part of Charles Tucker the Third will be played by…Charles Tucker the Third. And now…Charles Tucker the Third.
"'Thank-you, Thank-you, Fuck you.' I have just one thing to say to you people, and that thing is get the fuck off of my goddamned ship!" Blue eyes turned from a gentle sky into polished steel. A broken and slumped body straightened, and dropped from the bed, landing securely on the floor. The contingent jumped backwards, startled.
"He's insane." One of the Danielses spoke in triumph.
Trip's left hand lashed out, a hard straight punch that caught Daniels dead in the solar plexus. Daniels gasped then collapsed to the deck.
"Crazy isn't hearing voices inside your head, crazy is listening to the ones coming from the outside saying that you're what's wrong with the universe." The accent remained Southern but the inherent warmth had disappeared from the tones. "And in case you haven't noticed, asshole, I sure as fuck ain't listening. No… don't worry about Trip Tucker losing his mind… 'cause I'm holding too fucking tightly on to it."
"What makes you so sure that this is your ship?" The question came from a woman near the back of the crowd, safely out of reach.
He reached behind him, and held up one of the pads. "This is a DNA comparison… using the blood from inside the turbolift, and my very own medical records." He tossed the pad to them, so they could look for themselves.
"That doesn't mean anything…"
"And this is a DNA comparison using a sample from Jonathan over there… compared with the medical records of Captain Archer of this very ship. As you can see, while the match with me is perfect, there are tiny variations between Jonathan and Archer. To me, that would indicate that I am supposed to be here… and with the sole exception of Crewman DiLorenza… not one of the rest of you assholes are." He tossed the second pad at them with a perfect Frisbee-style flick of the wrist.
"This still doesn't change the fact that you shouldn't…" Again from the woman buried safely in the back.
"You know… you're so fucking arrogant that I seem humble by comparison. You think that because you're from the future you know everything. A non-occurrence out of an unlimited number of possibilities? Even I know that's so unlikely as to be impossible. But no… you see a one-off and think that the impossible has occurred… and every fucking single one of you has to come charging in to fix it. Did you even consider the fucking possibility that this whole goddamn mess is because all you assholes decided to show up here all at once?" He surveyed every face, seeing guilt and shock register on a few. "Yeah. Not me, but you. Your fault… because things aren't working out the way they're supposed to. Because no matter how fucking hard I've been trying… you shits have been getting in my way." He snickered. "You should count yourselves lucky… because you pulled this shit with me. Y'see, there's your other mistake…"
"Mistake? What the hell do you mean, 'mistake?'" Someone else asked this time… someone he didn't recognise.
"You all have been running on the assumption that I am the same fucking person as the Trip Tucker that you're used to… the one from whatever little piece of insignificance that you hail from. But as he could tell you…" His finger stabbed out towards Jonathan again, causing the crowd to shrink back. "… I am not the same as other Trip Tuckers. DNA is part of it… some things are hardwired, whether we like to think so or not. Others… I've got a friend who keeps reminding me that it's the details that matter… the little things that change the big ones. And as an Engineer… I know she's right. You miss one tiny little connection out of thousands… and your engine ain't gonna function at all.
"But look at me… look at all you know about Trip Tucker, and tell me which little tiny influence made me into someone different than any of the others. Maybe it's not even one, maybe it's a ton of them. I don't know what the fuck it is… and I've lived it. Yet you're willing to screw around with a more complex system called the Universe. You think because you've got some broad history book view of things that you're some sort of fucking experts on how things oughtta go. Well, I'm telling you that you've fucked it up good this time. I didn't bring every fucking future to bear on this place, you did."
He could see they didn't want to believe him, but he didn't care. I ain't all that interested in your opinions. Hell, it made more sense than the fact that a single man was responsible… even if that man was Charles Tucker III, Master of Disaster. Besides… in the absence of Archer, in the absence of T'Pol, Commander Charles Tucker III was in charge of the ship… none of these others had official permission to be here. The devil is in the details, assholes. And what made them think they could control Destiny, when they couldn't even keep track of a single human being… especially one as transparent as Trip Tucker? One for whom they held nothing but contempt?
You're afraid of me, though. Ohh yes… he could see it in their eyes. They didn't know what to make of him… this sudden transformation from baby-faced innocence into hellfire-tempered steel. It didn't fit with what they knew… it was a detail out of place. At the same time… they'd listen to him, if only because they were afraid of the future if they didn't. The Daniels he'd dropped still hadn't regained his breath fully, pain still lived in his eyes. Did they wonder about the lack of pain in his own? Do I really care?
"He might just have a point." Sisko's deep voice rumbled, cutting through the rest. "Even an Engineer couldn't mess things up this badly on his own." He alone seemed unafraid of the Irish temper… the Donnelly disposition. To the others… Trip Tucker's supposed to be this good-ol' Southern boy who lets things roll off his back like water off a duck. Sure, they expected a few explosions… there still remained the hot-head reputation, but not cold-fire resentment, the true Irish temper. We don't let things go. And Sisko… He might just be the only one with an idea who he was dealing with. You know the details, fan-boy. He might have Trip coloured in as a hero… but he also seemed to know enough to wear gloves when handling dry-ice. Cold enough to burn you, boy.
"I suggest you make up your minds quick… the clock is ticking." He stared down each one of them in turn – no one could hold his gaze for more than a few seconds. They knew from that brief non-contact that he'd be willing to wait them out, even if it meant total and utter annihilation. His eyes told them everything: he'd made his choice, and if the consequence was death, then so be it. Death is not one of my fears. He feared falling… but falling felt like flying, something humans were not engineered to do. Humans were engineered to die, however, it was built into their very make-up. I do not believe in unnatural things. Toby still qualified… for who was to say that the soul was unnatural? But we were not made to fly.
Technically we weren't engineered to walk, either, but that hasn't stopped us yet.
Shut up. He didn't need a discussion of human capabilities right now. Instead he waited in calm, cold silence until they began to disperse. After a few minutes only Toby, Sisko, Jonathan, and Kaci remained.
"You, too, bud. Scram."
Sisko's face lit up in a sudden grin, then he, too, left.
"I suppose you'd like me to go, too." Jonathan seemed downcast at the prospect.
Well, you sure as hell can't stay. He felt his strength draining, then his body sagged.
"Hey… careful." Jonathan caught him before he could hit the floor, kindly keeping away from the injured shoulder.
"Mmmn." I hate it when that happens. When his brain went on autopilot and left him behind. While he tended to be quicker on the uptake, and far less intimidated, it also turned him into a son-of-a-bitch. Then it stops… and I have to deal with everybody pissed off at me. "I hope it worked." He pushed Jonathan away and staggered over to the bio-bed.
Jonathan followed, and for a moment they both simply stood there, while Trip tried to make sense of his feet. Archer's gonna kill me… if Phlox doesn't first.
" I just… Charles has been so… It's felt better being here…"
An odd segue occurred to Trip. "Remember when I said a depressing pattern?"
Jonathan nodded.
"See, the women I've had the best relationships with are the ones that remind me of my mother. Smart, funny, and won't let me get away with anything. You remind me of my father."
A look of pride moved onto Jonathan's face, only to disappear as Trip continued.
"You're pathetic. You've got someone who treats you like shit, but you forgive it all because you're 'in love. ' You've got a billion excuses for his behaviour, but won't do a damn thing about it. Well, like my Grandaddy used to say, 'Lie down and I will walk all over you'" Again that shift… into necessary cruelty. Funny, though, how Charles the First raised such a milquetoast of a son.
They locked gazes. Jonathan looked away first. "And I will. Why shouldn't I? And if Charles is anything like me, which you seem to think, then that's exactly what you're gonna get. He's gonna push and push until he hits the limits, and so far you haven't shown any. Fuck. If he was here right now, I'd smack him upside the head, and all he's guilty for with me is a mistaken identity.
"You want to keep him? You're gonna have to grow a backbone, and grow it stiff. Tell him you've had enough, or all you're gonna get is more of the fucking same. My dad? He was scared of me, same way you're scared of Charles. He'd lay down laws, but he never backed them up. I was breaking into fucking houses to try and see if he'd make me back down, and he never did once."
{Wasn't he the one…} Toby's voice trailed off as she realised the truth. Sure, it was his father who picked him up after the stolen car arrest, but not through any measure of willing.
"Only because my mom made him. She knew what I was up to, what I was trying to prove. So he bailed me out, bawled me out, but took it no further than that. A week later I was back to the same thing, and he fucking did nothing. That was the same year my parents split up for six months, remember?" Mom had walked away, taking the kids with her. Gave Trip a new set of rules, and knocked him back every time he crossed the line even a bit. " 'Cause she knew that I had no respect for him at that point, and wasn't going to get any. And she couldn't fight us both, so she decided to go with the one she could save."
"But," Jonathan looked hurt, probably was hurt, but Trip wasn't going to be nice about it. You want saving? You want redemption, buddy? Start believing you deserve it for a start.
"But what? Love is about forgiveness? Well you'll have to excuse me, because I haven't gotten around to that one yet. Besides, forgiveness ain't the same as being a goddamn fool. My mom could forgive me, could forgive me damn near anything, but she didn't let me get away with shit. Dad? Oh he'd give me the silent treatment for a while, but he never tried to stop me, never set any consequences." All the best women he'd known: Toby, Gina, hell even Hess, had the same set of standards. He'd never dated any of them, but maybe that's why the relationships were able to last.
He softened his tone, if only slightly. "Malcolm once said I was a poster-child for Peter-Pan complex. Maybe he's right. I don't want to grow up, not completely – not forever. But like any kid, I do like knowing where the hell I stand. And from what I've seen of you, that's not something you're capable of providing." It was why he and Captain Archer were such great friends, too. Because he knew that if he crossed that line, there were repercussions, and that absolution did not come easy. "It may not be love, but it's respect, which is a hell of a lot harder currency to come by." And that was the hardest truth of all, the one Trip had never been able to grasp. He loved his brother, he loved his father, but could respect neither of them.
Jonathan sagged against the bio-bed, every inch of protest gone. "If I do that, he'll leave…"
"He's left you anyway… he just hasn't gone away yet. I've had it happen to myself so many times, that by now I don't even bother trying the denial bit. Only woman I can't get rid of is twenty years too young for me, and dead."
{Hey.} Toby protested the description, or maybe it was the get rid of part. {I can leave any time I want to buddy, if I happen to like hanging around with a moronic idiot, well then I can if I want to.}
"I know you are, but what am I? If you like hanging out with a moron…" He left the sentence hanging as she stuck her tongue out and made a face. He turned back to Jonathan. "Same goes for you. If you haven't got the self-respect to walk away, then I can't help you. But if you're half the poker player my Archer is, then you understand that you've got to be prepared to risk everything if you're going to win everything. Call his bluff. Five'll get you ten he folds. I do every time." If he valued what he himself risked losing. Security, family, they topped the list. Unless it's the ultimatum. But I don't think your boy has that kind of guts. "But he has to believe that you mean it. Like I said, my parents split up for six months. That's how long it took for my dad to realise that Mom wasn't coming back. That if he wanted to have her in his life, he had to start being in that life with her, not just coasting through."
"Do you really think he'd stay? Are you sure he wouldn't just decide I wasn't worth the time? Worth the effort?"
Trip exploded. "What fucking effort? From what you've said, he hasn't had to make any. Whatever he does, it doesn't matter because you'll always be there for him to go back to. Love's not always enough of a motivator. Fear. The understanding that you have to be responsible, or everything could be gone in an instant." He felt himself wanting to cry, from sheer frustration. How stupid could people get? How much did it have to hurt before a person realised that they had to quit going in the direction they were going? "I learned that the hard way." He pointed at Toby, forgetting for the moment that Jonathan couldn't see her in her current state. "She taught me that, the day she walked away and never came back. If I could go back and fix things… I'd do anything to have my best friend back. But I can't. Not even with a million time-travel devices, because it would be wrong. I wouldn't learn my lesson – would wind up just like Charles.
"But you want it all, don't you? Ice-cream and sprinkles too." Bitterness soaked the words. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but the universe doesn't work that way, and I don't care what universe you come from. People don't value what they get for free. They value what they have to work for, what they earn. You heard me tell Sisko that I hate baseball."
Jonathan nodded. "So does…Charles. He never would explain that."
"I hate it because I'm so good at it, because it's so goddamned easy. Football I had to work at, and I love it. Math was never my strong subject at school, and here I am an engineer, and wouldn't trade it for anything. Because I had to work at it, because when I got there I had accomplished something." So many people couldn't understand that, thought Trip was crazy for taking the hard way when an easy one was available. "The only good thing about baseball was that I spent four fucking years playing it for that scholarship, all the while I detested every one. But I wouldn't quit, was too stubborn to quit." How much was getting through? One word in twenty? One in a thousand? T'Pol picked up on motivational issues quicker than this, and she wasn't even human.
"Well, Charles is stubborn. I will admit you've got that in common." The ghost of a smile played on Jonathan's lips.
"Good. Now use that. Let him know he can't take the easy route – that you're not putting up with it any more. And when he goes to walk away, let him. Hell, help him out with his bags and wish him luck. If he goes for good, then you really haven't lost much. If he doesn't, make him stick by the new rules, and it's a win-win. You keep him, and your self respect." Funny. He could give out relationship advice, be dead on accurate with it, but couldn't make it work for himself.
Maybe because you never give it enough time, asshole.
"It won't be easy…" Finally Jonathan seemed to be considering the prospect, however reluctantly.
"No, it won't. But if you keep giving up it won't be possible at all. But you can't do it partway. It may hurt like hell… but pain is survivable."
"Good." Jonathan suddenly smiled wolfishly. "Then you won't mind this." He put his hands on Trip's shoulder, felt it for a moment then shoved hard. Trip screamed as the pain cut through even his drugged haze, and his shoulder clicked. He staggered backwards, wondering what he'd done to deserve it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kaci watching with approval.
"Uhh." He tried moving his shoulder, and while it hurt like hell, it still functioned. "Thanks. I appreciate that." Pain pulled him sharply into the here-and-now… made him focus.
Jonathan shrugged. "Well… you did say pain was survivable."
"I didn't say I was a masochist." One good thing about this coming to an end – maybe people without medical degrees would stop treating his injuries. Not that Phlox is any nicer.
Not that you're any smarter. Trust Inner-Charles to remember who decided to take the drugs.
The ship shuddered and the lights dimmed and blackened. "Shit." So much for fixing things. Trip pulled an igniter out of his pocket and clicked the switch. A golden, flickering glow illuminated a couple of feet. "I don't suppose you've got any candles."
"Sorry, I left them in my dining room." Jonathan's dry sarcasm drifted out of the dark. "Any other brilliant ideas?"
"Um…"
Blue light arced through the room… Kaci either hadn't abandoned, or had retrieved the diving light he'd given her.
"Thank you, Crewman." Trip clicked off the igniter.
Thank you. The last thing we need is you setting your hair on fire.
"I haven't done that in over twenty years." He ran his good hand across his head, reflexively. Yup, still all there. He couldn't help it… it was one of his few major vain points. Hess had once accused him of having a better stock of hair products than she did. But it looks damn good. He was about to tuck the igniter back into his pocket when it disappeared.
{I don't care. You're still not allowed to have this.} Trust Toby to still be paranoid about Trip and combustibles.
With Trip taking the lead – leading Jonathan didn't seem the least bit strange anymore – they made their way down to the turbolift. The doors opened of their own accord, and he found himself staring into a bright light, a familiar face.
Hello, asshole.
"What the fuck? Jon?" His doppelganger looked past him and over at Jonathan. "Where the hell have you been? You didn't get off the ship… I haven't been able to contact you… you've got to start…"
He stared at himself… his might-have-been… his never was. Come to think of it, the face wasn't familiar at all. He didn't recognise the whiny twist to the lips, the carelessness in the eyes. He took in the fists… fingers that curled naturally into weapons instead of falling open in friendship. He sensed Jonathan hanging back behind him… afraid of this monster that he'd thought he'd known. "Backbone." Trip murmured.
"'Scuse me?" Doppelganger tried to pull himself taller and seem more menacing. The trick was so basic, so pathetic that Trip nearly laughed. Ever used a broken bottle, pal? Doppelganger wanted to be a monster, and couldn't recognise a real one when it stared him in the face.
"Violence doesn't solve anything." He spoke so mildly that he might have been discussing the weather.
"Who the fuck…" As if it wasn't obvious.
"Sorry? Was I speaking to you?" He hadn't been… he'd been telling himself. I want to smash that pretty little face of yours right out the back of your skull… because the very sight of you makes my skin crawl. Because you're just a pathetic little cry-baby and not worthy of the name Tucker… Trip Tucker, anyway. Because maybe it'll show Mr. No-Confidence back there how non-invincible you are… Just because. He couldn't, though… it would be…
{Go for it.} Oh well, when self, inner-self and best friend all agree… He came around with his left, aiming straight for that most vulnerable of spots, the one guaranteed to cause this bastard pain. A sharp, fast, dirty shot… learned best in a bar-fight.
Cartilage crunched and his doppelganger stumbled backwards, howling. "Bastard! What the hell…"
Trip turned around and shook Jonathan's hand, even if it was with the wrong one. "The drugs aren't that good," he explained. "Anyway… good luck, and remember what I said. I think I've got him to a point where he might be inclined to listen… especially if you do it like I told you. No quarter… forgive if you want… but never forget. Make him earn it."
Jonathan glanced towards his wounded lover and nodded. "I'll try. Thank you. For everything."
"You're welcome." He fumbled around in one of his pockets until he found a small souvenir. I don't need it anymore… maybe it will help you. "To remember me by."
Jonathan took it gingerly, a small bloodstained shard of green glass. "What…"
"A little piece of something I once used in a fight. You can't win by playing fair… not when it's important. If the other guy's trying to take you apart… you gotta be willing to get nasty." He nodded to the turbolift where Charles leaned against the wall, moaning. "Keep yourself together… believe in you, and help him realise that there's worse things than having a little respect. Now move… I think the window of opportunity is closing."
Jonathan smiled, slipping the shard into his own pocket. "Thank you. And good luck, yourself. Even if you are an incorrigible, foul-mouthed, rule-breaker. And you quit giving up so easy, too. You're not as bad as you seem to think." He blinked in surprise, obviously feeling a chill as Toby suddenly flung her arms around him.
The air got even colder as that light high voice became truly audible once again. "Maybe from you, he'll listen." Jonathan smiled wider and Charles looked around wildly at these words from nowhere. Trip simply stared in shock, unable to believe it. You hate Archer… you think he's a hypocritical bastard… but this guy's okay. Then again… Toby never was predictable.
Jonathan stepped into the turbolift and the doors closed again, whisking them away, hopefully home. This time Trip braced himself as the ship lurched and spun, then everything brightened again.
"Well… are we back?" He set off at a jog for the mess hall, needing a window to look out of. The stars twisted lazily outside – alive and moving. He dropped to his knees and laughed, huge laughs of relief. "Thank you, God." He knew – now – how Toby could believe. It wasn't walking through the fire that made you believe, it was the fire itself and that it was there so you could walk through. While it might not make you stronger, it could make you become who you needed to be. How many tiny pieces make up the whole… pure chance just doesn't cover it.
He climbed to his feet and began the long trek down to the shuttlebay. Kaci and Toby fell in beside him, no leader, no follower… just three people walking down a hallway lost in their own thoughts.
She's getting a promotion… a commendation if I can't do that. Hell, I just saved the universe… I can get Kaci a goddamn promotion.
If she wants one.
And that – he realised – was the only sticking point. Would Kaci even care? Would she find the extra responsibility – the extra need for human interaction – unsuitable? "Kaci… do you want a promotion?" It was strange to ask… nearly anyone would jump at the chance to move up and move on.
"I am content where I am. I can do my job." Not really an answer… but enough of one, all the same.
"Okay, just checking." Then I'm going to let you do it… even if it means letting you do whatever you want. She was, after all, the better judge of what needed doing – taking over the small stuff while everyone else focussed on the bigger things. But the small things are just as vital. He didn't have the mind to think in that detail – perhaps it would be better if she still slipped in unnoticed so that no one complained about the waste of time and resources on something 'non-essential.'
He waited outside the bay to the familiar sounds of depressurisation and repressurisation. Only then did he step inside to see who got there first.
"Trip! Thank God, you're okay!" Archer sprinted towards him in an uncharacteristic and uncaptainly display of enthusiasm. "When I found out you didn't make it onto one of the escape pods…" He stopped abruptly. "What the hell happened to you?"
"You don't want to know. You'll only yell at me." He grinned, knowing he'd be yelled at anyway. But that was okay, because it would be personal: it wouldn't be the captain castigating a junior officer who screwed up a diplomatic mission – it would be Jonathan Archer scolding Trip Tucker for being so careless with his own life and limb. Familiar ground – family ground, when you got right down to it.
But it was over now, and he didn't need his strength anymore. It slipped away and he sagged towards the deck. Only Archer's quick reflexes kept him from going all the way.
"Somebody get the doctor." Archer moved to Trip's left side as he caught the gasp of pain from Trip when he grabbed the right. He looped Trip's arm over his shoulders, holding him upright.
"I don't need the doctor… I've just broken a few bones, that's all."
"You're babbling." Archer flicked his finger into the side of Trip's head.
"Whatever, old man." He knew the line would get Archer going… it always did.
"Old, hell. I'll still probably outlive you, you stupid son-of-a-bitch. How many times to I have to tell you: your name's not Clark Kent."
"I can't be Superman… I'm afraid of heights." There, he said it – the secret was out.
"I know that, you idiot. Why the hell do you think I took you mountain climbing? I need something to get even with you for all the hassle you cause me." Archer wrapped an arm around Trip's waist and began guiding him towards the shuttle-bay doors.
"Well, you'll never get even for this. 'Cause I got to save the universe, y'know." He grinned again, proudly. "An' I didn't even mess it up."
"That's a first." Archer hit the door to the turbolift… and nothing happened.
"Whoops." Nice to know some things didn't change. "I think we broke it again." Except… he could see a ring of pink light around the control panel – a detail Archer seemed to have missed. "Let me." He hit the button again, three times.
The doors opened smoothly, and he ignored Archer's quizzical look. "I am the master."
"You're something." He tuned out the rest of it, just let Archer babble on about how pig-headed and stubborn and stupid he could be. Just like a brother.